They Will Listen Now

Mom, Dad, it’s not your fault.

I had one line down on the paper. My hand was trembling. I tried to calm myself to steady it. I leaned back against my chair and I closed my eyes. With the darkness came memories.

Donna Miller was sitting at her desk, biting her cheek and looking down at her test. She was the prettiest and the most popular girl in school. Funny how those two ALWAYS go together.

Me? I was your average genius kid. I liked reading, school, and Star Wars. Yeah, I’m your stereotypical geek.

She looked up, and I looked down. I had already finished my final, it was a cinch. I only stayed in the classroom so I could… never mind.

So, after 20 more minutes, I was getting bored of just sitting there, so I got up handed in my test and left.

20 feet down the hall and my face suddenly becomes real good friends with a metal locker.

“Hey, Jet.” I say
“Shut the hell up, faggot!” He returns to tumultuous applause from his cronies, the hockey team.

Back story to Jet is he’s the star hockey player in out little Michigan town. He’s not really that handsome, so he breaks the typical star jock mold a little, but what he lacks in looks he makes up for in steroid use. Oh, did I mention he’s been terrorizing me for a solid 8 years now?

So after the cronies shove my head into the urinal and Jet pisses on my head for the umpteenth time, they figure that’s enough humiliation for one day and leave me alone. No, I don’t cry. I don’t make a sound the entire time and my face is passive. And I’m not outwardly angry at Mr. Synthetic Hormone either. It’s getting freaking old though, I can tell you that.

The day turns out to be rather normal. I ace all my tests and spend my spare time in the band room playing my saxophone in a corner. Today is a day just for finals, and I am a human made just for testing. I don’t have to study, I don’t sweat the tests, it all comes natural to me. I have a good memory I guess. So, yeah, normal day.

That is until the final bell rings.

I’m walking through the parking lot towards the family mini van I drive to school when Jet shows up again.

“So, rumor has it, you have a thing for Donna, huh? That’s really cute, let’s see what she thinks. HEY! HEY DONNA! DID YOU KNOW THAT REESE HERE LOVES YOU?”
Donna Miller turns around, looks at me and gags. Yeah, she actually gags.
“Ouch, little man, looks like you’re shit outta luck. Oh, and speaking of shit…”
I’m on the ground before I know what’s happening. My mouth is forced upon and something foul smelling and tasting is shoved into it. If you’re thinking right now, “Did they shove dog crap into this kid’s mouth?” The answer is no.

It was human.

I gag, bad. I puke all over myself and Jet. No, Jet doesn’t like that at all. And he starts pounding his giant fist into my fragile face with his oversized muscles.

I’m seriously convinced I’m going to die. Jet was going to kill me. A fist hits me in the temple and I’m out cold.

I wake up, no one, NO one called for help. I’m still in the parking lot. I’m still covered in feces and vomit. I can’t remember exactly what happened, but that’s because I have a concussion. My face feels like is has dried mud on it. I touch it and look at my fingers. Close, but its blood not mud. I look around, there’s no one left here. The mini van is the only car in the lot still. Oh, and it’s covered in pictures of male genitalia and the words “Faggot” and “Gay” are repeated several times.

I get in, reach in my pockets for the keys, they aren’t there. Great! Fan-fucking-tastic! I live 20 miles away!

I could not take it anymore. For 8 years Jet has bullied me. For 8 years Jet has terrorized me! For 8 FUCKING YEARS JET HAS TORTURED ME! I am NOT going to take it anymore!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The night echoes with my scream.

I go to the mini van. I hotwire the damn thing. I’m a genius remember? Brains are good for something. My average speed going home was about 65 mph. Not bad for a mini van and a geek behind the wheel. I make it home and go to the den. The walls are covered with animal heads. Dad is a hunter. I open the closet that has the gun safe in it. I open it and the safe and pull out my granddad’s .45 from his army days. I grab a clip, load it and pull back the slide like a professional. Did I mention my dad takes me shooting and hunting with him every other weekend?

It was Friday night; I knew where all the cool kids were going to be. Every Friday the social somebodies go to the lake and burn shit in a bon fire. I was about to bring some extra heat to their fire.

I skid to a halt in the dirt. I‘m out of the car and crossing the crowd before anyone knows what’s happening. I level the gun and the crowd goes silent.

“Hey, Jet.” I say softly.
“Hey Reese. I’m glad to see you’re okay.” He’s scared shitless.
“Oh, I’m fine, thanks.” I give him a smile. “Sorry to interrupt your party, I’ll just be going now. Goodbye Jet.”

I squeeze the trigger and the bullet rips through his chest.

Thud. His lifeless carcass hits the ground.

I walk back to the van, get in and drive back to the house. As the streetlights whiz by the windshield, the reality of the situation hits me. Now, I’m scared.

I reach home again. I think I know the only thing left to do now. I can’t run from the cops. I go to my room and sit at my desk. I pull a sheet of paper from my printer and grab a pen.

I start the letter. Mom, Dad, it’s not your fault.

The taste of the metal was bittersweet.